


Night Lights

by noelia_g



Series: Night Lights [1]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 16:53:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noelia_g/pseuds/noelia_g





	Night Lights

Every other evening, he still came up to the roof. The excuses varied, a smoke, a breath of night air, a moment of peace. He brought up a coffee, the steam rising from the mug, blown away by the wind. The reflector was gone, the cleaning crew had swept up the broken glass, there was no trace of it now. It shouldn't matter, even when it had been sending the signal, the Batman had rarely shown up.

But the sign was there, comforting, reminding. Reminding the criminals, that someone was after them. Citizens, that someone was watching. Reminding Gordon, that... nevermind.

"You shouldn't be here," came a familiar rasp from behind him, and Gordon was quite proud he didn't startle. Much.

"Neither should you," he offered, turning, taking a sip of his now lukewarm coffee. "At least no one will shoot me, when they see me."

There was a moment of silence, but Gordon didn't really expect an eloquent response. Batman tended to be a rather to-the-point conversationalist.

"Joker's transfer to Arkham," Batman said, and Gordon nodded.

"Flawless. But I assume you knew that." A curt nod in return was all that he got. He would have sighed, but the conversation was less irritating than usual, somehow almost comforting. It was strangely good to know that some things didn't change. "And I suppose you're asking how Joker is now, and the answer is, sedated and locked up. Not sure how long this will hold..."

"We'll be ready," the Bat said, and Gordon suspected he was lying, really.

"I don't think," he stopped, realising he was once again talking to an empty space. He snorted to himself as the door behind him opened, and a young officer whose name he hadn't yet learned coughed pointedly.

"There's the Mayor on the line for you, Commissioner," she said and he nodded, still looking into the night and the lights of the city.

"I'll be right there. Thank you, officer..." he paused, and she obligingly supplied "Montoya, sir."

"Thank you, officer Montoya." So many names to learn, and that was the least of his problems. The paperwork was next, and now he was getting calls from the Mayor on the daily basis. The Commissioner job wasn't all that it was cracked up to be. And to top it all off, he had a hunt to organise, for the Batman, currently occupying number one spot on the list of the most wanted.

He really didn't want to start on that one. But the city demanded it, and the city needed it. And as always in Gordon's life, everything came secondary to the city.

 

Not two weeks after taking over the office, Gordon came to a sad realisation that the piles and heaps of paperwork mounting his desk weren't the worst part of life after promotion. Loeb was right, the job brought death threats and angry mail, but Gordon would take them gladly if it would mean he could beg off all the official appearances he was now obliged to make.

And there's a lot more of those than he had expected. The city is breathing freely again, Joker locked up, mob scattered. Their hero might be dead, the other turned villain, but in the grand scheme it doesn't matter, things are almost normal. The crime went on, of course, but it was the everyday kind, muggings, stolen cars, drug-related murders... something you see on the news and think 'it's not about me, it would never happen to me'. The worst, everyone imagined, was over, and the city celebrated, with parties and galas and fundraisers, and apparently, the Commissioner was getting invitations to most of them.

And apparently, when it came to some of them, as he has been informed by the Mayor, politely declining was out of the question. Claiming he had an important case or a hundred going on didn't help either.

Which might explain his current predicament, and the awful bow tie he had to wear. He really didn't like the bow tie.

He wasn't even entirely sure what this particular event was meant to raise money for, it could be anything, from orphans to dolphins. What mattered, apparently, was that 'everyone who was anyone' was supposedly in attendance, and it wouldn't be all that bad if Gordon met the right people, people making decisions on funds and resources and equipment.

But by the second hour, he had met them all, shook their hands, and managed some of the worst small talk he had ever been through, and that included all the attempts at small talk with Batman. Considering that Batman just walked away from small talk, it still was preferable. And by now, no one was really paying him any attention, as every available bit of it was concentrated on Bruce Wayne, who had arrived fashionably late, and in a company of not one but two rising pop princesses. His arrival, as Gordon had been told, in a hushed whisper, always both made and ended the party, because nothing more interesting was going to happen.

Gordon actually hoped this would be the case, especially considering the latest party the young man had thrown. He wasn't really looking for this kind of excitement.

Or, any. Which was why he made use of the commotion caused by Wayne's appearance and sneaked out to the balcony, wishing he had the foresight to take a pack of smokes with him.

Below him, the city going on with its nightlife, hopefully as peaceful as possible. On the far east side, he could hear the sirens, and his hand twitched over the pocket with his cellphone, but he willed himself to be calm. If anything, they knew how to reach him, and he made it perfectly clear that anything at all out of the ordinary, anything suspicious, he should be notified at once.

"Isn't it your night off, Commissioner?"

He turned towards the voice, grimacing slightly. It was one thing to be constantly surprised by a masked vigilante, but being caught off guard by Bruce Wayne of all people was downright embarrassing. "I'm not sure I know what a night off is," he offered, calling up a polite smile, and ending up on neutral. It should do.

Wayne laughed, a little harder than the poor joke warranted, but a little more genuine than Gordon had expected. "Maybe it would be a good time to find out?" he offered, and Gordon frowned at him, not exactly grasping the implication.

"I'm not sure..." he started, interrupted by the strange jingle Jimmy had installed on his cellphone a while back. "Excuse me," he offered, and snapped the phone open, ignoring the slight smirk on Wayne's face. He really needed to change the ringtone. At some point. "Gordon," he muttered to the receiver, and listened to his assistant for a moment. "I'll be right there. Tell them not to do anything before I'm there," he ordered before disconnecting.

"Sounds serious," Wayne offered, with some concern, and Gordon nodded, sighing, and pushed his glasses higher onto his nose.

"Just a normal night," he muttered, turning to walk out. "It's been nice meeting you," he offered absently, and didn't look back.

 

It was almost comforting. A robbery turned hostage situation at the museum, no costumes, fear toxins, or master plans. No plans at all, and that was exactly where it had turned ugly, and a night guard was shot, two others and a curator and his assistant still inside. By the time Gordon got to the scene, it seemed like half of the police force was there already.

"What do we have?" he asked the detective in charge, and listened to the detailed answer. His gaze kept slipping from the Lieutenant's face, however, turning above. Batman would be insane to show up here today, with that many officers who'd shoot him first and never really get to the questions part, and yet, for some reason Gordon couldn't help but look into the shadows on the rooftops, trying to make out their shapes.

"Orders, sir?" the lieutenant asked, and Gordon turned his attention to the task at hand. They've worked out a decent plan, one that should work.

It would have worked, probably, if one of the hostage guards didn't try for heroics, didn't lunge for one of the guns. The resounding sound of the gunshot was all the SWAT team needed to enter, and from then on, it was pure chaos, dozens of voices over the radio, gasps and screams from the crowd gathered behind the yellow tape, and a cloud of smoke from the tear gas obscuring everything going on in the building itself.

And then someone, maybe one of Gordon's men, maybe a bystander, had yelled 'Batman', and everything went quiet and still for Jim, as a shadow glided above them, then swept into the building through a broken window.

Without much thought, Gordon broke into a run, knowing he won't be the only one, but in all possibility, he will be the only one not going to shoot to kill.

They found two of the hostages in the main hall, the guard, on the floor in a puddle of blood, and the curator's assistant, panicking, and yet trying his best to stop the guard from bleeding out. Gordon called in the paramedics as one of the officers knelt down to help, and continued towards the commotion in the back. The SWAT team were making their way from the floor above, accompanied by more sounds of gunfire. By the time Gordon made his way through the smoke, the officers were escorting hostages out, the criminals either unconscious or restrained.

"Where's the Batman?" Gordon asked, and tried to cover the worry in his voice by annoyance. He managed quite well, mostly by being furious as hell.

"Don't know, commissioner," the team's leader shrugged, taking his goggles off. "He was here, for sure," he muttered, glancing at the restrained assailants. The bat-shaped edge sticking out of the wall next to one's head was surely a dead giveaway. Gordon was pleased that apparently his officers weren't completely dense. Unlike some other people, not to name names. "We're still looking."

Gordon nodded, looking around the exhibit hall. "Good. Get them out. Have the scene secured. I will..." he stopped, and pointed outside the window. "There. Rooftop. Get him before he runs away again," he barked, and the officer just glanced, before reaching for his weapon.

"Batman?" he asked, already gesturing at his men. "Sir, are you..."

"Yes. I'll be fine, go," he ordered, and watched them spill out of the room, the messages already flying through the comms.

He paused, waiting.

"I'm not that easy to spot," came the expected rasp, and Gordon rolled his eyes.

"Well, I had a lot of practice, what with you always disappearing into the shadows," he offered, making his way towards a mural, and pushing himself through the small space between it and the real wall. "How bad is it?" he asked, looking down at the Batman, sitting on the floor, hand almost casually covering a tear in the suit.

"I had worse," the man offered, and Gordon rolled his eyes. "One of your officers is a very good shot."

"Yes, I'll make sure to promote them. Now, can you stand?"

There was a brief moment of silence, as they looked at one another. Then, "Probably not on my own."

Gordon quelled the desire to tell Batman off for being an idiot. One probably doesn't tell such things to a masked vigilante. Even if one would really like to. He paused.

"Tell me you have a new car," he muttered, but the Batman just tilted his head. "Bike outside?" And again silence. "If you tell me you came here by cab, I'm going to shoot you myself."

"I walked. Ran," a little more breathless now, and Gordon frowned with concern. "It seemed like..." he paused, taking a breath, and Gordon moved forward, reaching for him.

"Come on, we need to get you out of here, before others get back."

This night was really working up to being a long one.

 

The walk to the car was quite possibly one of the longest in Gordon's life, even though he had parked nearby. Over the radio he could hear the frantic search for the Batman, someone claiming he was heading towards one of the bridges, the pursuit following swiftly. At this point, of course, every shadow was the Bat.

It was really too bad that the real Batman was much, much heavier than a shadow. Gordon supposed the suit didn't help. He was really damn glad when they finally got to the car.

"Try not to bleed on the seats, if you please," he muttered, helping the man inside.

Batman made a strange sound, which might have been a snort, and might have been a groan of pain. Gordon hadn't had time to look at the wound yet, eager to get out of there as soon as possible, but it probably wasn't just a scratch.

He started the car, making sure to take the turns smoothly, navigating out of the tight alleys of the area. Two passing police cars paid him no heed, but his pulse raced anyway. Not every day was he driving with a wanted man in his back seat. He glanced into the rearview mirror just in time to see the Batman looking back at him.

"Nice suit," the Bat said, and Gordon rolled his eyes. He had discarded the offending bow tie the moment he had left the party, and by now the shirt was far from crisp white, but it was still the blasted tux; and coincidentally, one man who shouldn't comment on anyone's attire was someone wearing a cowl with pointy ears. On the plus side, if the wry humour was back, maybe the injury wasn't that serious. Or maybe Batman was just one of those people who felt sarcasm was necessary in the face of death. Gordon really didn't like those people. Unless he was the one dispensing the sarcasm, of course.

"Thank you. I figured now that I'm the commissioner, I should make an effort and dress up for the major crimes," he said dryly.

Now there was a definite snort in return, followed by a pained sigh. "Where are we going?"

Gordon kept his eyes on the road. "Oh, I thought I'd dump you at the ER, you mind?" he muttered, then sighed. "My home. Unless you have a better idea."

Silence filled the car, and Jim nodded to himself. The Batman may trust him, as much as he would trust anyone, but there were limits. And that was a good thing, Gordon thought; he wasn't sure he wanted the responsibility of knowing any more than he already did.

"Your family..." Batman said quietly, and Gordon shook his head, trying for a smile and managing a tight grimace.

"Barbara took the kids to visit their grandparents. They won't be back for at least a week." Supposedly. But the weekend visit had already turned into two weeks so far, and even though the school year was approaching, Jim wasn't sure the kids would be back for that. Barbara mentioned a great school nearby her parents, one her niece went to, quite a few times, talking about art programs, sports facilities, and safety. You didn't have to be a cop to put things together.

They didn't say anything after that. Batman closed his eyes and settled more comfortably into the seat, and Gordon listened to the chatter over the radio, making sure that the wild goose chase was actually wild and in no way closing on them. As he pulled over in front of his house and turned the engine off, he looked over to the back. Batman's breathing was more even now, and not as shallow. For a moment, Gordon thought the man was sleeping, and hesitated to disrupt him. But the dark eyes opened, the look clear and fixed on him. And for another moment, Jim couldn't look away.

"We should go in," he said, moving to open the car's doors and get out, walking around it to help Batman out. "Also, just a thought, you may want to invest in a bulletproof suit one of these days."

"It is," Batman offered, as they made their way up the stairs. At Gordon's raised eyebrow, he added. "In theory." The pointed silence caused him to add, "Got me in one of the weaker spots."

Gordon would have laughed at the slightly wounded tone of the rasped voice, under any other circumstances. For now, he just got Batman to the couch, and went to the first aid kit in the bathroom. On the way, he glanced at his watch and, grimacing, reached for his cell. "Barbara? It's me. No, there's been a hostage si..." he paused, listening, and at the same time sifted through the kit. "No, I'm fine. Are the kids asleep?" He waited as she made her way through the corridor, and to the kids' room, then smiled as his son's voice perked up over the line. "Hi, Jimmy," he said, and listened to the boy talk about his day, then to Babs as she has taken over, babbling about the neighbours' cat having kittens.

Finally, Barbara took over the phone, and he assured her he'll be calling tomorrow, and that yes, he was fine. Her voice was quiet, withdrawn even as she told him to take care of himself, but he didn't expect anything more. As he disconnected, he reached to take off his glasses; pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly, then rubbing his brow briefly. Then, putting the glasses back on, he finally spied the antiseptic he'd been looking for and made his way to the living room with the bandages and supplies.

Batman was watching him with enough concern to tell Gordon he had heard the entire conversation, and reached his own conclusions. Gordon sighed, hoping that the conversation style he was used to from the man would continue, and there would be no mention of this.

"Does the suit actually come off?" he asked, laying the bandages on the coffee table and looking down at the Batman, who nodded slowly and moved to unlock a complicated-looking contraption at the side, easing the top of the suit off until the wound was exposed.

It didn't look that bad: the shot had missed all the major organs, and lodged itself in the flesh. Less blood than Gordon expected, too, unless the suit managed to soak it up. "Fine, don't move," he ordered, kneeling at Batman's side, working to retrieve the bullet and clear the wound before patching it up. Batman's breathing grew ragged, his muscles tensing. "Don't. Move," Gordon muttered, glancing quickly up, then turning his attention back to the work at hand.

He wasn't sure what he felt at the look in Batman's eyes, but he was sure he didn't want to think about it at the moment. Or possibly ever.

The injury he was working on clearly wasn't the first one. Some were old, years old, and some startlingly fresh, a few weeks at best. There was at least one still with stitches, that he could see, and curiously, the stitch started uneven and messy, but somewhere in the middle turned careful and almost perfect. Just one more mystery about the man, Gordon supposed.

"Done," he muttered, moving away, his fingers once more brushing his alongside the bandage. "Now, painkillers," he added, reaching for the container, but Batman stilled his hand.

"No."

Gordon rolled his eyes. He wasn't a great fan of pain medicine either. They tended to dull your mind and cloud your thinking, but honestly, even he thought being shot warranted some relief. "You know, you're quite an idiot," he said pleasantly, and tensed when he realised he actually said it out loud.

Batman just smirked. "So I've been told," he said quietly, and shifted in his seat. Gordon nodded.

"As long as you're aware of that," he smiled slightly. "Stay as long as you want," he added, standing up. He didn't expect it to be too long, but hoped that the man would at least rest a little before moving.

"Thank you," Batman said, and his voice sounded a little differently than usual; still hoarse, but not quite the same.

Gordon nodded, and went down the corridor to his bedroom. He'd like to say he didn't look over his shoulder at the man shifting on the couch to find a more comfortable position, but he'd be lying.

 

When Gordon woke up, Batman was, predictably, gone. He had even gone to the lengths of cleaning up the supplies from the coffee table and placing them back in the first aid kit. It felt really surreal, the Batman cleaning at his house. Not one of the things he had expected to take place during this week. Or ever.

By the time he got to the office, the entire night felt just as surreal; as if it happened to someone else, or as if he dreamt it.

But the reports arriving at his desk from the previous night begged to differ, detailing the proceedings, the details, and most importantly, the cost of the entire operation. He sighed, wondering if this was what he was going to be dealing with now: and if so, was it too late to return the whole promotion thing to the shop? Probably. Damn it.

He made a large pot of coffee to get him through the day and started on the forms and reports, one piece at a time.

By the time he had made enough progress to actually see his desk again under the papers, his phone rang, and he spent a frantic thirty seconds looking for it. "Gordon."

"It seems you made quite an impression yesterday, Jim," the Mayor said pleasantly, and Gordon cringed. Which part was he referring to, and how much trouble was he in already?

"Sir?"

"I'm having lunch today with one of my most generous benefactors, and your presence has been requested," the Mayor continued, and Gordon pushed his glasses up his nose in frustration. Just wonderful, exactly what had been missing in his life. It couldn't possibly get worse. "If you could join us in an hour at the Ritz?" Oh. It could.

He assured the Mayor he'd be there with all the enthusiasm of someone on a death row, and disconnected. The day was shaping up to be worse than the previous night, and that was an achievement.

A little less than an hour later, he was led to the Mayor's table at the Ritz by a concierge whose tie probably cost more than Gordon's entire suit, and wishing for a major shoot out downtown. He would take an armed robbery. Or a plain old murder, if it was close enough that he could claim being in the neighbourhood.

"Ah, Gordon," the Mayor said, rising and extending his hand to greet him. "You know Mr Wayne, don't you?"

Jim nodded, and shook Wayne's hand as well as the man smiled widely. "We've met," he said curtly, and then remembered to add, "How do you do, Mr Wayne?"

"Bruce. Please," Wayne smiled even wider. Should be physically impossible, in Gordon's honest opinion.

As they sat down, the Mayor's cellphone beeped, and he excused himself, making a quick conversation before looking at them with dismay. "I'm dreadfully sorry, Mr Wayne, Gordon, but it seems that duty calls." He didn't explain anything else, not that Gordon needed the explanation. He had a sneaking suspicion that he had been set up, but whatever for, he had no idea.

Bruce watched the Mayor walk away, then turned back to Gordon. "Well that's unfortunate. But let's not let it spoil the lunch; why don't we order?" Jim hesitated, wondering whether the price of a lunch in the Ritz actually exceeded his weekly income or just came close to it, when Bruce added, "The least I can do after dragging you here is treat you to lunch."

Gordon glanced up, surprised. In his experience, Bruce Wayne wasn't really all that perceptive. And that was putting it mildly. "Thank you," he nodded, and leant back in his chair a little. "And, if I may ask, why did you drag me here?"

"Well, I was watching TV yesterday," Bruce announced, and Gordon held back an eyeroll. Patience. Patience was an important virtue.

"That's astounding," he said, and got a look he couldn't quite decipher, but could have been amusement. Strange.

"Isn't it?" Bruce agreed. "And there was some crime show on, don't ask me what it was," he paused as a waiter approached and placed an order without looking at the menu. The waiter turned to Gordon expectantly.

"Same," Gordon said quickly. He didn't trust the menus anyway: nothing that came with that much gold font could be trusted. "And?" he prompted Wayne, who smiled again.

"And I thought they had really fantastic equipment. All those 3D pictures of dead brains? Amazing." Something about the tone intrigued Gordon. It was almost too flighty, too clueless. "And then I thought I remembered you talking about the new CSI lab at the party," he continued, launching into what was shaping up to be a generous donation from Wayne Enterprises to the Gotham PD. For some reason.

"All of that from watching late night tv?" Gordon asked after about three minutes of one of the strangest conversations he ever had, and that included the ones with both Batman and the Joker. "Tell me, Mr Wayne, what happens when you watch Baywatch?"

Bruce made a dismissive gesture with his hand, shifting in his chair with a tense grimace. Probably didn't like Baywatch, Gordon thought. "Please, Baywatch was cancelled years ago," he offered with a smile that again sent Gordon's mind wandering.

The trouble with Bruce Wayne was, he thought later as the man was getting into another one of the flashy cars made for greater speed that could ever be reached in a city limits, the trouble with him was that you couldn't actually tell if he was having the greatest joke at your expense, or if he was actually that shallow.

Then Bruce turned to look at him, and the smile was different again, softer. The trouble with Bruce Wayne, Gordon thought, shifting uncomfortably, was something else too.

 

It was three days before Gordon had a moment to go up to the roof again. The night air had grown colder; the summer was drawing to a close, and you could feel it. Gordon leaned against the railing and took a sip of his coffee, watching the stream of lights move through the streets below.

To be honest, he was kind of hoping the Batman would show up tonight. The last few days had been quiet, almost peaceful, and the worst Gordon had to face was the pile of paperwork on his desk that never seemed to get smaller no matter how much of it he went through. Nothing that warranted an appearance from the Batman had happened, but... it would be good to know that everything was alright. And really, Gordon wondered, when did he start to worry like that about the Bat?

A soft noise behind him caused him to spin on his heel, but instead of the dark looming shadow he had expected, he came face to face with Bruce Wayne.

Who smiled apologetically, and ran his hand through his hair. "Sorry, didn't want to startle you, Commissioner. Your assistant told me to come up here. Apparently, when you're not in your office, that's the place to look for you," he said, and Gordon frowned at his tone, warm and quietly amused.

"What can I do for you, Mr Wayne?" he asked, and after a pointed look from the man, shrugged, smiling. "Fine. What can I do for you, Bruce?"

Bruce gave his most cheerful smile, and Gordon couldn't help but keep on smiling back. It was a little bit scary, but mostly just astonishing, how contagious the man's good mood was. "Well, I would love a coffee, but mostly, I came with this," he offered, holding up a manilla folder with Wayne Enterprises logo on the cover. "I talked to Lucius Fox about my crime lab idea, and he liked it a lot. It turns out Wayne Enterprises makes quite a lot of lab equipment, I was happy to learn."

Gordon took the file, looking at Bruce suspiciously. "That's a happy coincidence," he said wryly, and Wayne nodded enthusiastically.

"I thought so too. I had Fox put together a proposal which, if you accept, we'll start implementing next week. What do you think?"

The first two pages of the file already had Gordon's eyebrows rise so high he was sure they met his hairline. "I think you're being very generous, Mr Wayne."

"Bruce," the young man corrected. "Nonsense. Fox says it's going to be excellent PR for us, and Accounting is giddy at the thought of the tax deductions."

Gordon studied him for a moment, from the immaculate suit to a perfect smile. A smile more genuine than he had seen Wayne offer on other occasions, but still one that didn't quite match the look in his eyes. Maybe it was Gordon's cop instinct, but something about the man wasn't quite so obvious as it seemed, and it intrigued him. Yes, he'd go with the cop instinct. Other reasons would be... cop instinct. Good.

He relaxed a little and smiled dryly. "Are you trying to tell me that it's the police department doing you a favour, then, not the other way round?"

Bruce laughed with a surprised delight. "Precisely, Commissioner."

"How generous of us."

Wayne nodded. "Indeed it is. Maybe in return, I could buy you another cup of coffee? Seems this one is quite cold now," he said, gesturing at Gordon's cup. Probably sensing Gordon's hesitation, he added softly. "Come on, Commissioner. Maybe you could check out the novel idea of a night off."

Gordon nodded, slowly. "Jim," he corrected. "Or Gordon, if you prefer. Fine, but it better be a good coffee," he said, trying to ignore the nagging thought that he might have just agreed to go out with Bruce Wayne. Surely this was not the case.

 

As much as he still wasn't convinced the da... meeting was such a good idea, Gordon had to admit that the flailing display from the barista at his usual coffee shop was damn entertaining. Probably something that Bruce Wayne had to face on regular basis, but it still amused Gordon greatly.

"You can stop smiling now," Bruce said dryly as they took their seats in a secluded booth.

"Oh, I don't think I will," Gordon shrugged and took a sip of coffee, sighing contentedly. Much better than the one he had at his office, and a thousand times better than the one from the vending machine. He caught Bruce's gaze and frowned. "What is it?"

Wayne shook his head, his eyes still a little wide. "Nothing."

And here it was, the thought that Gordon had been carefully avoiding for the last fifteen minutes, or maybe even longer; since the lunch, or even the party. The thought seemed ridiculous at first, as this was Bruce Wayne and he was still Jim Gordon, commissioner or not, but now he wasn't so sure.

Of course, maybe another crazed madman had added some toxin to the water main. That would certainly explain a lot.

Starting with the fact that once they started talking, conversation with Bruce Wayne was actually engaging. And Gordon was certain that this wasn't something that occurred daily. Not only the invitation for a coffee part, but also the way Bruce's carefree mask had slipped, revealing a keen intellect. Somehow, Jim thought, Bruce had trusted him enough not to pretend. And this was extremely disconcerting.

"Tell me something," Gordon said during one of the pauses, as they both took sips of their coffees. "And no deflecting, if you please."

Bruce nodded and leaned back in his seat, waiting.

"Why are you here?" The 'with me' part was left unsaid, but Gordon knew it was understood.

"Well for one, the coffee is excellent," Bruce grinned, and raised his hand in defensive gesture. "I know, sorry. It's a habit." He paused for a moment, looking at the cup in his hand as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. "You work too much. Should take the night off every now and then."

Gordon was about to protest the change of topic, but then Bruce looked up at him. Not a redirection, then. An answer.

"For the record," he said slowly, downing the rest of his coffee. "I think you're quite insane."

Bruce laughed at that, shaking his head, eyes brightened. "So I've been told."

"As long as you're aware of that," Gordon muttered, smiling.

They continued through another round of coffee, until Gordon glanced at his watch and grimaced, realising it was just about six hours 'til he was supposed to be at work again. And even though he didn't exactly have a boss who would grumble at any tardiness, he was not going to be late anyway.

Bruce nodded with understanding, and stood up as well. "I'll walk you to your car."

Gordon was a little afraid this might happen, and yet he was unexpectedly glad when it did. The toxin theory was definitely becoming more and more plausible. Maybe he should order tests, once they got the proper equipment.

As they got to the car Gordon turned, nodding. "Thank you." He should get in, say goodnight, and drive away. Any minute now.

"Tomorrow?" Bruce asked, and if Gordon wasn't mistaken, he was licking his lips. For god's sake, what was Gordon supposed to do with that? "Lunch?"

Gordon shook his head. "Meeting with the new lieutenant in charge of the MCU."

"Dinner?"

"I've promised the Mayor I'll put an appearance at the fundraiser at..."

"You're not making this easy," Bruce interrupted, shaking his head. "You really do work too much." He paused, considering. "We'll have to do something about that."

Jim really didn't have anything to say to that. They stood like that for a while, inches apart, until Bruce moved closer; close enough that Gordon was sure he could hear his heartbeat speed up. It rang in his ears, pulse racing. He shifted uncomfortably, and Bruce blinked, then moved away.

"Good night, Commissioner," he offered softly, and Gordon nodded, smiling.

"Good night, Mr Wayne," he said before getting into his car, starting the engine, and driving away.

 

The next day, Gordon supposed, would fall under the definition of 'working too much', but there really wasn't much he could do. Well, fine, apart from taking a break and going home to sleep off the last few days, or maybe the last few weeks, but that wasn't something he could seriously consider.

The sunset found him back on the roof, now without the excuse of a coffee cup, idly turning his cellphone in his hand. The sun was almost gone, the sky almost dark, but the streets were still golden, the shadows long around him.

"Isn't it a little early for you?" he asked without turning, and a small sigh let him know he wasn't mistaken in his assumption. He really was getting better at this, even though it wasn't the most useful skill in the world.

"I have places to be, later," the Batman said, and Gordon nodded.

"So do I, unfortunately. I gather this is business-related?" he asked, trying to turn the conversation to the matter at hand. "Anything to do with the robbery few nights ago?"

Batman nodded, tilting his head. "How much do you know?"

"We got the inventory list, finally, and apparently, a diamond tiara was missing, a part of the next week's jewelry exhibition. Strangely, none of the arrested had it, or was even aware of it's existence. It was locked in the safe in curator's office, and no one was really supposed to know it was there already. All of this leads me to think..."

"The robbery was a distraction," Batman supplied.

Gordon looked at him suspiciously. "You knew? Well, that would explain why you appeared, of course."

There was a long pause, long enough to have Gordon wonder. "Yes," the Bat said finally, and Gordon frowned. The lie was painfully obvious, and yet he didn't want to ponder the implications of this. He already knew more than he felt comfortable with, after all.

"Do you know who?" he asked instead, and Batman shook his head.

"I will."

Gordon didn't doubt it; Batman was nothing if not efficient. "Let me know," he said dryly, and didn't add that it still seemed more like a case for the police, not a masked avenger. Maybe Batman was just bored. In which case Gordon was half tempted to propose they divided his paperwork. That he could use some help with.

After a moment, he realised that the Bat was still there instead of vanishing into the shadows as he was wont to do. "What is it?" Gordon asked, a little more harshly than intended, and got a considering look in return.

"That's what I was going to say," Batman muttered, watching him. "Is everything alright?"

Gordon snorted a humorless laugh. "No, not really. Barbara and I are getting divorced. Well, she says separated, but she means divorced," he said dryly, gesturing with his cellphone. There was something really fucked up about discussing this with Batman of all people, but at least he told someone.

"I'm sorry," Batman said, and Gordon nodded.

"That makes three of us, so far," he said, turning to look down at the city now coloured with different shades of gray.

There was a rustle of movement behind him, and for a moment Gordon thought the Batman was walking away, but no, that he did soundlessly. A gloved hand rested on his shoulder and squeezed gently, and Jim looked over his shoulder, surprised. Batman nodded at him, and then moved to walk away, leaving Gordon shaking his head in confusion. Talk about having a strange day.

And, he mused glancing at his watch, it was far from over: he was still required to attend the fundraiser. At least he hoped there'd be alcohol there. With his luck, though, there would be nothing but the blasted champagne.

 

Unfortunately, Gordon was quite right about the champagne. And there was no open bar where he could get the bartender to bring him some single malt; only waiters passing silently with trays full of that dry crap.

Still, a drink was a drink, and if he ever had a good reason this was the night. After three glasses the small talk wasn't even as annoying as usual. He still intended to excuse himself as soon as possible, of course, but somehow he didn't have the usual desire to take out his gun and put himself out of the misery that usually accompanied putting on a tux.

Well, except for the one instance of his wedding, of course. And that was a thought he didn't want to have, really, not now. He reached towards a tray being carried past him and picked up a glass, downing half of it in an instant.

"Starting early?"

He turned, already rolling his eyes. "Good evening to you, too, Mr Wayne," he said, raising his glass slightly. "You didn't mention you'd be attending, tonight," he said with a small smile, and his grin was returned magnified by about a hundred times.

"Must have slipped my mind, I get so many of these invitations," Bruce shrugged. "I've just decided yesterday; something someone said," he added, and Gordon felt a faint flush creeping up his neck. He might have to lay off the champagne.

He was about to say something to change the topic when a man Gordon vaguely remembered having something to do with city's transport appeared next to Wayne, calling his attention. Bruce didn't seem too pleased by the interruption, the polite smile on his face a little too forced, but Gordon just nodded.

"Excuse me. Mr Wayne, it's been a pleasure to see you again," he said politely, and made his retreat, not looking back. Maybe he did enjoy Wayne's company, surprising as it was, but he was not going to be pulled into yet another conversation on stock markets or Italian cars. Not tonight.

He got as far as the garage, tugging irritably at his bow tie, when he heard steps behind him. "Jim."

He turned, exhaling softly and forcing a smile. "Bruce," he nodded. He briefly amused himself with the thought that recently he had become as laconic as Batman tended to be.

Wayne stopped a few feet away from Gordon, and ran his hand through his hair as if unsure of what to say next. He was supposed to be much better at that playboy persona he insisted on putting up for some unfathomable reason. "You're not leaving yet?" he finally asked, and Gordon laughed at that: because frankly, of all the things to say, this?

Bruce was rolling his eyes at himself, his smile crooked, and Jim had probably had too much of champagne and this entire day had been beyond strange... he moved forward before he could stop himself and actually think of what he was doing.

It wasn't slow and hesitant, like the first kisses he knew were. It would surprise Jim if he was actually thinking, and not losing himself the moment Bruce responded, mouth parting, his hand finding it's way to Jim's chest, fingers tightening on the lapel of his jacket.

When they pulled away, breathing almost identically harsh, Bruce sighed. "How much did you actually have to drink?"

"Does it matter?" Jim asked, trying to speak over the sound of his own heartbeat.

"Tonight, yes. Because you're going to second guess yourself like hell tomorrow," Bruce said sadly, moving away further. Gordon looked away, not wanting to voice agreement to what he already knew was true.

Bruce smiled, and reached to tug off Jim's bow tie. "You look better without it anyway," he offered, pocketing it and nodding decidedly. "I'll see you around, Commissioner," he added, stepping back and turning to walk away.

 

Of course Wayne was right. Gordon had known that yesterday, standing in the garage and trying to keep his breathing under control (and by 'breathing', he meant... breathing. Definitely). He had known that in the taxi, his eyes closed to keep the dizziness at bay. And he had known that getting home, crawling into his bed and trying not to think about anything at all.

But in the harsh light of day it was even worse, accompanied by a throbbing pain in his head. This precisely was why he preferred smoking as his vice of choice. The worst thing that could happen with that was death by lung cancer, as opposed to death by acute embarrassment.

He made his coffee stronger than usual, and was a little surprised when it was still liquid. At work he shut the blinds before getting started on the new pile of requisition forms: the dimmed light might be hell on his eyesight, but at least it didn't make him want to hit his head against nearest flat surface.

It went like this until around lunchtime, when his doors were pushed open loudly. He grimaced, then stared, as Bruce Wayne marched into his office, placed a flask on his desk, and sat down in the visitor chair with a proud smile.

Gordon continued to look at him with a raised eyebrow. Bruce laughed. "I thought you might need this," he said, pushing the flask towards Gordon.

"What is it?" Jim asked suspiciously, reaching to pick it up, unscrewing the lid and peering inside. It didn't smell very promising and it looked a little strange too.

"Alfred's hangover remedy. Don't let the look fool you: it's good stuff. Tastes awful of course, but works wonders."

"Do I want to know what it's made of?"

Bruce shrugged. "I never asked. I think I prefer not knowing myself."

Gordon nodded, then hesitated, looking at the other man. "Mr Wayne, I wanted..."

"Bruce," he interrupted, corners of his mouth rising. "You had your tongue in my mouth last night; you can try and use my first name."

Gordon stared at him, speechless, until Bruce cracked a wide grin. Jim rolled his eyes. "I'd prefer if you didn't put it quite like that," he muttered, before bringing the flask to his mouth and downing half of it in one go. He grimaced. "It really does taste awful."

"I think Alfred makes it that way on purpose, as a form of punishment," Bruce volunteered, then raised his hand when Jim wanted to say something. "If you're going to apologise, spare me and yourself and don't," he said and leaned forward a little, his smile softer. "I didn't mind."

There wasn't much that Gordon could say or do in response to that apart from the thing he actually did, which was blush madly. "Still, I shouldn't have..." he started, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose.

Bruce sighed and stood up, walking around the desk slowly, purposefully. Gordon frowned at him, starting to ask what was going on when Bruce reached to pull him up, closing the distance between them, reaching to touch the side of Gordon's face. "What..." Jim started, but his words were silenced when Bruce's lips touched his, gently at first, then bolder, tongue coaxing Jim's mouth open.

Jim's hand moved up without his conscious thought, resting on Bruce's hip to pull him just a little bit closer. Bruce moaned, a low sound in his throat, and gently bit at Jim's lower lip, eliciting a similar sound. Then, reluctantly, Bruce pulled away; breathing harshly, his lips swollen.

"Should I apologise for this?" he asked hoarsely, and when Jim shook his head, he nodded. "Good. We're even then."

Jim snorted a laugh and nodded. "What am I going to do with you?" he asked the world in general, and was rewarded with an unabashed smile.

"Oh, we'll get to that," Bruce said, drawling the words suggestively. "Lunch, tomorrow?" he asked and moved further away, straightening his tie. At Gordon's nod, he smiled. "Good, I'll pick you up here. 'Til then," he said and walked out, leaving Gordon really, really grateful that he had shut the blinds earlier in the morning.

 

It was quite puzzling that, even with the sign gone, Batman promptly appeared whenever Gordon was wishing he would, whether it was up on the roof of the police station or outside Gordon's house.

"Do I even want to know how much illegal surveillance you have installed?" Gordon asked without turning.

"It's not illegal," Batman replied matter-of-factly.

Gordon nodded. He had suspected at much, and the thought of anyone, even the Bat, hacking into the city's CCTV system was definitely not a comforting one. "No, just you using it is," he sighed.

"How is he?" Batman asked after a moment.

So he knew about that as well, Gordon mused. Somehow it had ceased to surprise him. "He's no Harvey Dent," he shrugged, recalling his earlier meeting with the new DA. "But maybe he'll actually get to finish his term," he added bitterly. The memory of Dent still stung, in more ways than one. "But I suppose you already know all about him."

Batman didn't deny it, just tilted his head a little. "He'll do, for now. But the city needs more."

"Oh, a hero, you mean? There was someone," he said pointedly. They'd had that discussion before, and it never went anywhere. Jim shrugged. "In other news, another robbery last night: this time thankfully without fuss and without victims."

"Diamonds?" Batman asked, and shook his head at Gordon's nod. "That makes three. A trap might be in order."

Gordon rolled his eyes. "Isn't this a little beyond your… well, the word jurisdiction doesn't really fit, but you know what I mean." Batman didn't answer. "Everyone needs a hobby, I suppose," Jim muttered. "You have any diamonds lying around to use as bait?"

"I have my sources."

Of course he did. "Just keep me in the loop for once?" he asked without much hope, and was surprised when Batman nodded.

"I will," he said, and stepped back into shadows, disappearing.

Apparently there was a first for everything, Gordon thought. Lately the Bat puzzled him even more than usual, and that was an achievement. Of course the world in general was doing its best to be as baffling as possible, starting with - but not limited to - one Bruce Wayne.

The flask was standing next to the sink, rinsed off. Bruce's bringing it to his office was unexpected to say the least. Gordon hadn't yet stopped to wonder what earned him the attention: a seasoned cop, even the commissioner, was as far from Bruce Wayne's usual choice of models and actresses and ballerinas as humanly possible, but apparently it was happening.

And fuck was it happening. Just the memory of the kiss was intoxicating, making him hard. And right now, it was too late, and he was too tired to fight it, to have any sensible thoughts push away the memory of Bruce's mouth on his, teeth pulling at his lower lip, of the sounds... god, the sounds.

He made his way to the bedroom, onto his bed, remembering the way Bruce's tongue licked at his mouth, imagining that tongue moving elsewhere. He reached to undo his pants, slowly stroking himself through the material, wondering how Bruce's hand would feel doing the same. Which smile would accompany the actions, the suave playboy grin, or the crooked, honest smile he wore when they were alone?

The last conscious thought he had before he threw his head back in abandon was that the lunch tomorrow was going to be... interesting.

 

"You know, I haven't actually written a ticket in seven years, but for you I think I will," Gordon muttered, slowly flexing his fingers, which were stiff and sore after gripping the edge of his seat for the last fifteen minutes.

Bruce laughed. "I'm sure there are better ways to tell me you think I'm special."

"Very special," Jim agreed, getting out of the car. "I can't even begin to describe it."

"If I didn't know better, I would think you were insulting me somehow, commissioner," Bruce said innocently and smiled, waving his hand widely. "Shall we?"

Gordon frowned, taking a moment to assess their location, something he hadn't done before on account of holding on for dear life. "I thought you said lunch."

"I do have a kitchen in my apartment. With a well-stocked fridge, I assume."

He rolled his eyes at the casual tone and the unabashed grin. "If I didn't know better," he said with a healthy dose of sarcasm, "I would think you had an ulterior motive."

Bruce smiled, his hand brushing Jim's as the made their way to the elevator. "You might be right."

He definitely was, as the very moment the elevator's doors closed, Bruce pulled him closer. This time, however, Gordon wasn't surprised, and he met the kiss halfway, his arms rising, hands running along Bruce's arms. He hadn't realised they were both moving until his back hit the wall. "Fuck," he muttered against Bruce's lips, causing the other man to smile.

"Great idea," Bruce announced cheerfully, and started tugging at Gordon's tie, easing it off. Jim was already working on the most efficient way to get Bruce's jacket off.

The doors slid open almost soundlessly, and a polite cough followed. "Welcome home, Master Bruce. Commissioner. Lunch is ready," Bruce's butler announced evenly, and passed a flustered Gordon and a bemused Bruce on his way to the elevator. "I'll be taking the rest of the day off, if you don't mind, sir."

Bruce laughed, and gently pushed Gordon into the apartment, waving. "Thank you, Alfred." He turned to look at Jim as the elevator closed shut. "Where were we?"

Gordon rolled his eyes. "I don't know about you, but I stopped at mortified. I don't think I can recover," he added dryly.

All he got in return was a smirk, and Bruce moving towards him with smooth determination. "I think we both know this isn't true," he said, his voice dangerously low. He bit his lip when undoing Gordon's belt, and Gordon really shouldn't find that both arousing and endearing, but he did. The endearing part gave way quickly, leaving just the arousal, as Bruce's fingers moved to the zipper, and then, fuck, yes, then his hand was inside Jim's pants, moving slowly and purposefully.

It was exactly like Gordon had imagined it would be, only a thousand times better, with Bruce's breath tickling the skin of his neck, warm and soft, followed by his lips and tongue. Gordon felt the wall against his back again, and threw his head back, granting Bruce a better access to... well, whatever he wanted, Jim didn't care much at this point, as long as he kept on touching him like that.

The hold Bruce had on him grew fainter, and he was almost pulling away when Gordon caught his hips and held on. Maybe Bruce was just going to suggest they moved to a more comfortable location, but Gordon was not taking his chances. He was not thinking it over, not stopping. "Don't you dare stop this time," he said hoarsely, his voice strained.

Bruce tried for a laugh, Gordon could see, but hadn't quite managed; his eyes clouded and dark. "Not this time," he agreed, and helped Gordon ease his jacket off, letting it fall to the floor. He returned to the task of palming Jim's cock, his hand sneaking into Jim's boxers, knee spreading Gordon's legs a little wider. It felt like too much, Jim's hips moving almost all on their own, in a perfect synch with the strokes. He moaned, grasping Bruce's shirt to hold on, fingers clenching on the material, pushing it up.

"Fuck, Jim," Bruce groaned into his ear, and Gordon gave in, moaning, his fingers digging into Bruce's skin, right at the edge of the rough texture of the wound he had…

His eyes flew open, and he was coming, leaning into Bruce with his whole body, shaking.

"Jim," Bruce muttered, his voice hoarse and oh so familiar.

Gordon moved, shifting so he could meet his eyes, searching. "Batman," he said softly.

 

Bruce moved away, the flustered arousal giving way to surprise and worry. Slowly, he withdrew his hand and brushed it absently against his pants. "How..." he started, stopping when Jim slowly reached to run his fingers down the side of his face, tracing his jaw.

Then Gordon chuckled. "At least it explains the diamonds."

"What?"

"For the trap. Batman might not have any lying around, but Bruce Wayne surely does," Gordon explained matter-of-factly, causing Bruce to roll his eyes.

"You discover my secret identity, and this is what you choose to concentrate on?" he asked, shaking his head. "Really."

Gordon shrugged, his hand sliding down Bruce's neck, his attention fixed on getting the buttons of his shirt undone methodically. "If you preferred me to react differently, you shouldn't have made sure I had almost no coherent thoughts left."

Bruce stilled his hands, fingers tightening on his wrist. "Gordon," he said pleadingly, looking at him with so much worry Gordon couldn't keep up the nonchalant air anymore.

"I didn't want to know," he said quietly, wondering how on earth he'd got to have this very conversation with his pants open, shaking his head in bemusement. He looked up. "I never asked, and never tried to find out."

Bruce nodded, the line of his mouth tightening as his eyes darted away. "I know."

"It changes everything," Gordon muttered, and then smiled slightly. "And nothing. I trusted you before, I trust you still."

"Thank you," Bruce said quietly, and if Gordon wasn't just inches away, he probably wouldn't have caught it. Jim leaned in, his body fitting against Bruce's, covering Bruce's lips with his own, kissing him slowly and thoroughly. He traced the curve of Bruce's lips with his tongue, then, even slower, coaxing them open, waiting for the low groan deep in Bruce's throat. He returned to undoing Bruce's shirt, pushing it off his shoulders. He leaned back, simply looking at the exposed skin.

He moved forward, maneuvering Bruce towards the couch, pushing him gently down, and knelt next to him. His fingertips traced the edge of the wound in Bruce's side, the same one he had touched before, the same one he had patched up few days ago. Bruce hissed, his hips twitching, and it didn't sound like pain, it sounded... Jim moved his fingers across Bruce's stomach, then up his other side, along an older bruise, brown and yellow and faint. "For god's sake, Jim, just..." Bruce started, but the rest was swallowed as Jim kissed him again, hard and unyielding.

"What do you want?" he asked, pulling away, and for a long delightful moment Bruce just stared at him, breathing harshly.

"Anything," Bruce said finally, arching his back lightly. Jim looked at him, pretending to frown thoughtfully as his fingers idly skimmed the waistband of Bruce's pants.

"Anything sounds good," he nodded before sliding to the floor, onto his knees, spreading Bruce's legs with his hands on Bruce's thighs, his fingers working the zipper open. He hadn't done that in a long while, but quite probably, it was not something one forgot easily. And by the strained moan Bruce gave when Gordon took his cock into his mouth he hadn't lost the touch, excuse his pun.

"Jim," Bruce kept repeating his name, as Jim's fingers dug into his thighs, as his tongue traced the underside of Bruce's dick. "Jim..." the vowel drawn out as if it was supposed to last forever, voice rising to almost reach a scream.

Jim pulled away, licking his lips absently, and Bruce moaned slightly. After a moment, when his breathing evened out, and Jim moved back to the couch, Bruce smirked lightly. "I guess this would be it for the lunch?"

Gordon didn't even bother with an eyeroll. "This was terrible," he said wryly. "I think it might have been your worst, actually," he added thoughtfully.

"I do try," Bruce nodded, turning his head to look at Gordon. "If I may ask, how..." he started, and Jim sighed.

"I patched this one up," he offered, pointing at the scar.

Bruce nodded. "I must remember from now on, don't take my shirt in front of people," he said, grinning. "Good thing I wasn't planning to."

"Oh?" Gordon raised his eyebrow, and Bruce laughed, leaning in to kiss him quickly.

"Present company excepted, of course."

 

The night was unusually cold, even for the time of the year. Gordon pulled his coat tighter around himself and took a sip of his coffee. It was still hot enough to burn his lips and tongue, but he didn't mind. His eyes followed an ambulance down the length of the street.

He leaned against the railing, turning the mug in his hands.

"You do know you can actually call me now?" a low voice behind him asked; not quite the Batman's official growl, but close. "You don't have to wait here."

Gordon turned, shrugging. "I like it here," he smiled. "And it lets me escape the paperwork for a moment," he added, getting a small smirk in return. "Besides, you still show up too."

Batman smiled. It was still a new thing: Gordon was used to the impassioned expression, or even a scowl. But it was a nice change. "It has some... rewards," he said, drawling the last word in a true Bruce Wayne style, and Gordon sent him a look.

"Didn't I tell you not to do that when you're wearing the suit?" It wasn't that he minded, not really, but the point was that the suit was frankly not designed for certain activities. And they did learn that the hard way.

Bruce nodded. "When did I ever listen?" he shrugged, and Gordon couldn't help a smile.

Absently, he ran his fingers along the railing. "I was just thinking," he said, pointedly ignoring the line of conversation. This wouldn't lead to anything good, or rather, anything decent. And the rooftop of the police station wasn't the best place for... They learned that the hard way too. "Next light, we're getting a stronger glass. One that doesn't break so easily."

Batman looked at him, his head tilted to the side, considering. "You don't put a sign for a wanted vigilante, Jim."

Gordon smirked. "I could try," he offered, then shrugged, looking down at the lights in the streets. "The city has to wise up at some point."

There was no answer, as Batman moved to stand next to him, his gloved hand covering Jim's.

After a while, Gordon sighed. "I should go. For some unfathomable reason I was requested to attend yet another gala tonight. I really suspect a city-wide conspiracy."

Of all the ways Batman could look, innocent had never been one of them. He nodded. "Guilty as charged. What can I say? It's the bow tie. I can't help it."

Jim rolled his eyes again, but he was smiling.


End file.
